Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I wasn’t sure how he’d be.
Drake isn’t warm and fuzzy like Drew is and with all the drama and excitement that’s been going on, I wasn’t sure how he’d receive me.
My worries fade as I’m ushered through their door.
Upstairs to his room.
The first thing I notice is the balloon bouquet floating in a mass above the desk. I quickly count them and come up with six, one of them loose and bouncing against the ceiling when we move through the room.
The balloons don’t say anything. They’re just hearts.
Silver and purple hearts.
And there are flowers.
Lavender roses in a glass vase.
“I didn’t know what your favorite color was, so I just picked purple,” he says from behind me, setting my suitcase near the closet.
I don’t even know what to say.
I turn to face him. “No one has ever gotten me flowers before.”
“There is no way that’s even possible.”
“Way.” I laugh, folding my hands in front of me, not knowing what to do with them. I want to… hug him. Kiss him.
Kiss his face.
So I close the gap and lift onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to the underside of his jaw, his stubble scratching my mouth.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice is low and gravelly, a mix of embarrassment and happiness.
He kisses me like he means it, his lips meeting mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
This kiss isn’t like the horny, semi-alcohol-induced kisses we shared that night we had sex at Miranda’s place. This isn’t like the kisses we shared after I found out I was pregnant.
This isn’t a fleeting touch. His hands cradle my face gently, as if I'm something precious, something he's been waiting for since before I arrived here.
I can feel the weight of our emotions in that kiss – it’s heavy, if that makes any sense at all.
Our longing, the passion, the unspoken words hanging between us that I’m sure we’ll share later, tonight, at dinner.
It's as if he's trying to convey everything we feel in this kiss; every thought running through his mind. And at that moment, I understand.
His lips move against mine.
My fingers find their way to his hair—which he’s trimmed, by the way—my heart racing in sync with the rhythm of our breaths. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, that bridges the gap between us, erasing any doubts that I shouldn’t have come to Illinois to see him and work things out.
As the kiss deepens, I feel his heartbeat against my chest, a steady rhythm that matches my own. Or maybe I’m imagining it because of our connection and this raw emotion.
When we finally pull away, it’s slowly.
I look into his eyes.
There's a new understanding there, a shared knowledge that goes beyond words. In that kiss, we've said more than we ever could have spoken aloud. And as I stand there, feeling the warmth of his touch still lingering on my lips, I’m excited about…
Everything.
It’s like I went back in time and we’re starting over—if that’s even possible.
Anything is possible, a small voice in the back of my head whispers.
There’s a pounding on the wall, coming from the hall.
A fist.
“Hey, no foolin’ around!” Drake shouts from the hallway with laughter in his voice.
The door flies open, and his eyes scan the room, seemingly disappointed at finding us standing in the middle of it and not on the bed.
“I’ve always wanted to bust in on him and catch him foolin’ around,” Drake jokes, leaning against the doorframe.
“Reallly?” Drew asks sarcastically. “This is what you’ve always wanted?”
“Forever in my whole entire life.” His eyes close as he holds a hand over his heart like a Scout.
Drew snorts. “Bro, you need to raise your standards.”
“Oh my standards are the right high, thank you very much.” He crosses his arms. “What are y’all gonna do later? Wanna do something?”
“We have plans,” Drew tells his twin. “We’re doin’ a date.”
“Doin’ a date?”
“Shut up, dickhead, you know what I mean.”
This is the Drew and Drake I remember from our youth—the teasing, the snark, the sarcastic back and forth that’s a borderline pissing contest.
My gaze volleys back and forth as they argue until finally, Drew shoves his brother back into the hallway and shuts the door in his face.
Locks it too.
“Alone at last,” I joke, walking to the desk and poking one of my balloons with the tip of my fingernail.
“Don’t get used to it. He’s a huge pain in the ass, and he’s not happy unless he’s all up in my business.”
Yeah, Grady is the same way for the most part. I don’t want to bring his name up though because I don’t know how Drew is feeling about it, and my attention turns to the bruise next to his lip, a reminder about everything that went down last time they were in the same room together.
It's healing, though.